


Roaring 20's

by formeldehyde



Category: My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Timeline - 1920's, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate universe - Mafia, Drug Use, M/M, Mafia AU, Prostitution, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-06-05 14:46:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15172973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/formeldehyde/pseuds/formeldehyde
Summary: It's glamorous, devious, and bloody. Everyone is starving for something.





	1. Silk Tie Tourniquet

The fight was more intense than Brendon was expecting. His boys went in ready to threaten the head of a small gang on the west side of the city, who owed them money for coke that they cut with fentanyl . The Urie family didn't sell shit, they sold top quality and they didn't get schemed by low-level gutter gangs. They were a high standing family in the mafia and Brendon was the only living son of Boyd Urie, the last heir to their inheritance and standing in the underground. The last thing Brendon expected out of a group of grimy teens was a bullet through his leg but here he was.

"Sir we have some trouble down at Iero's. They're packin' and we need back up. They ain't budging on the money and it's about to get real bad, boss," Gerard had said over the telephone, early that night. 

Brendon had sighed, taking a swig of bourbon. "Am I gonna have to get my dad involved in this? I'd rather not waste time or bullets on this."

"Bren-Sir, I really think we need help. This gang may be new but they ain't scared of a fight and from what I saw, there's a lot of 'em. We need more men. There ain't no way Wentz, Weekes, and Dun can cover this alone. I'm bout' a block over, we got eyes on the door but we need backup." 

"Fine. I'm coming. It's clear these punks need to know their place, they don't know who they're dealin' with." Brendon hung up the phone on that, slamming it. 

They rolled down to the west side, all in suits with deep red ties embroidered with golden 'U's. Heavy guns in hand, they burst into the decaying warehouse. Immediately they were met with four gangly tattooed men-well, boys really. All with revolvers aimed out. Brendon let a laugh slip. 

"What's so funny huh?" One of the boys quipped, he had a shaggy mop of hair and big brown eyes. He looked so young it almost made Brendon feel bad-he knew what it was like to grow up and know nothing but violence. Violence and fear that at any second you could be killed. He was raised in blood and drugs, but early he had been sheltered from it and lied to by his family to protect him. It was his older brother's inheritance, the title of Boss, but a few years back he was shot during a delivery and that transferred the legacy to the Urie's only other son- Brendon. And, though his Dad was still alive, he was barely hanging to a thread. Shriveled and dying, coughing blood into hundred dollar handkerchiefs. Brendon and his boys did the street level business, his dad handled the big shipments and money. Brendon knew, however, that when his father passed, he would oversee it all. And, as he looks into these wide honey eyes trying to seem tough, he sees himself after Matt's death. Attempting in earnest to be a man when he was still nothing but a child. 

"Nothing, sweetheart. Just that you and your boys think you could stand a chance against us. Why don't you just give up the money so no one has to get hurt. I just got this suit pressed and I would rather not get junkie blood on it."

"We-"

"Shut the fuck up," one of the others said, a small man with short cropped hair and a hunger in his eyes that Brendon knew all too well. He didn't let it show but he was beginning to see where this was going. There was something off about these kids. He felt the hairs on his neck stand, he flicked off the safety on his weapon. 

"Where's your pimp? I don't really have the time to waste on his whores. I'd rather try to work this out. Perhaps a payment plan."

The hungry one growled, "Ross, just fuckin' take him to Iero."

The bambi-eyed boy stepped forward, gun lowered. "C'mon, you said you were in a rush didn't you?"

"I ain't goin' in there alone, do you think I'm stupid, boy. Smith, you're with me." The boys finally gave up on their fruitless piss contest and didn't argue.

Spencer came behind him and they followed the scrawny teenager passed the guard dogs and into the back of the building where large sheets divided the room into smaller sections, in the back an office-if you could call it that. Behind a desk obviously pulled out of a junkyard somewhere, a short heavily inked man sat- again Brendon found himself asking how old these kids were? Brendon was only 20 himself but they all looked like teenagers. 

"Hey sorry about them they're uh... still getting the hang of all this."

Brendon assessed the kid in front of him, big bright eyes and a quirk in his lip. He wore women's eye makeup on his under eye and was dressed casually, in slacks and just a dress shirt, wrinkled and unbuttoned. His hair was in disarray and the cigarette he was smoking smelled cheap and butts were pilled up on the corner of his desk. "No need, they were perfectly civil...if not a little frisky," Brendon laughed as did-"I'm sorry but I don't think I know your name, I believe you've had contact with my father."

At that, Frank stiffened a bit. "Ah yes, My name is Frank Iero. I am sorry to hear of his condition."

"That's not quite your place to have a say as you could've killed of our boys with that laced shit you sold to us."

Frank sighed, taking a quick drag from the cig between his lips. "I really do apologize for that. We were pressed for time, I couldn't have my normal supplier come through in the time you needed. I was unaware of the cutting."

"I'm not looking for excuses, where is the money?"

"I can give you the difference."

"No you can pay back in full or Spencer's gonna put a bullet through ya' head. Clear and simple." Brendon moved forward, the Ross kid pulled out his gun, as did Spencer. The air was hot, everyone stilled and Brendon relaxes his shoulders. 

"Ryan, leave." Frank said. The kid looked at him like he was insane but left with his head down, eyes caught with Brendon's for just a second. He looked scared-terrified actually. This Iero seemed nice enough but the roughness of his voice as he barked out a command the boy to follow, it reminded Brendon dangerously of his own father. But the boy in front of him shook his head, pouring himself a drink of some nearly offensively cheap whiskey. "I can give you 10 right now, I can pay the rest in a few weeks."

"Not enough. Pop's expecting 20 and if I come back with a cent less, you won't see the next morning light and neither will I."

Frank rubbed his eyes, lighting another cigarette. "What else could I do for you?"

Brendon thought, there wasn't much someone like Frank could do for him that he couldn't do for himself. He had everything a man could ask for thanks to his inheritance and his work. He could ask for women of course but soon his father would be finding him a wife-some daughter of another mafia family and Brendon didn't need to worry about something trivial like that. However, as his brain begins to ponder on what Frank could give him, he thinks of that brown eyed boy. "Give me time to think about it. Your 10 will keep you alive for another week, if I don't see the cash midnight on Friday, you'll regret it." 

"Of course. We'll be in touch, just let me know what I can do for you to hold you over." Frank stood up, showing just how small he really was. Brendon doesn't think he could be any older than seventeen. 

"Will do." Brendon smiles and gives a threatening squeeze to Frank's skinny fingers. 

"Ryan! Would you please see Mr.Urie out. No weapons or aggression necessary, thank you." 

"Mr.Urie is my father, please call me Brendon."

"Ryan, see Brendon out and make sure all the boys treat him well."

The kid ran in quickly, eyes wide and visibly out of breath, nodding his head rapidly. "Uh...Yes, um... please come with me, sir."

Frank followed the kid-Ryan, back to the front where he was met with well to be exact, a mess of fights and fists. The hungry one had a mouthful of blood and Dun was strangling him. All the others were at each others necks or in a stand off with guns. Brendon ran to stop it but his face was hit with a swinging punch. The fighting continued, leaving several broken noses and, as Frank ran in, "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?" He screamed and everyone halted, a gunshot rang and Brendon was down.

As Josh described it, Ryan had come back and told them Brendon was threatening Frank and then everyone just started...beating the life out of each other. Guns apparently weren't deemed necessary at the beginning of the quarrel because the kids were too quick. They were scraggly and wanted blood-Josh was clearly talking about the one that caught Brendon's eye before. The one who looked like he was starving, but not for food. Brendon was beginning to understand how these kids were still alive, they were bloodthirsty and violent at their core. Well at least he saw that in all of them but that god damned brown eyes, curly headed one that reminded Brendon all too much of himself...a bit like his mom with his eyes, really. That's where they were now, going over it all to his father. He still had the Urie tie wrapped around his leg, the bullet removed but the make-shift tourniquet still easing the blood loss. "We'll get the money soon, now he knows if he pisses us off again we won't be so kind." With that a frail hand smacked Brendon's skin with surprising but familiar strength. 

"No son of mine leaves like that! You've embarrassed me, getting shot! If you had died what would come of our family? Where is the 10 at least?" His father's voice was whiskey, ashes, and gravel. Brendon handed over the leather case with shaking hands he tried to hide. Inside he was cowering under the terrifying force of Mr.Urie's voice. "Go." 

Brendon nods and leaves, followed by Spencer, Josh, and Pete. He goes to his room where their live in nurse sews his wound. When she finishes up, he rings Frank. The call goes in immediately. Before Frank even says hello, Brendon says, "I want Ryan."


	2. Tell-Tale Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> why him? why would brendon want him?

Brendon wasn't quite certain why he asked for Frank's little assistant but disguising a need to understand what he is now considering to be a rival gang, by seeming like a homosexual is what has to be done-he'll do it. He'll do it and also convince himself he's not actually doing this to get a chance to see those doe eyes again-to take note of the softness of a boy with sharp edges and bony limbs. He did, however, want to understand what made this unnamed band of misfits to be this vicious. 

-

"He wants what?" Jon stood slack jawed but arm crossing Ryan protectively. "Ryan isn't for sale Frank!" 

"It's sir to you, Walker." Frank growled, undoing his tie and tossing it aside. "It's non-negotionable, I'm sorry Ross. It's either this or we all get killed and lose everything. The Urie's are being uncommonly generous with us and we cannot upset them." Frank moved close to them, hovering over where they sat. "Do you understand me?"

They both nod, Ryan feels numb. He feels like his entire body has fallen asleep and he's not scared. It just feels all too familiar. He tries not to think about it, he's probably just being used for ransom in case Frank can't get the money. God, Ryan hopes he can get it. And, while Frank may be aggressive, he is not cruel. He has a temper that gets the best of him but deep down Ryan knows Frank would never intentionally hurt him. The thought puts him at ease but Ryan still has one question. Why him? 

He packs enough clothes, cigarettes, and drugs to last him the week. It all feels routine, leaving and hoping to get somewhere safe eventually. Years of running in fear. This was no different. He's survived, he's scavenged his way through these early years of the 20th century and he would last one more week. 

-

Frank tells Brendon that the boy will be delivered to him at the motel up the street. Brendon goes alone, in all honesty he would rather have no one else know about this. Of course he has security, Gerard drove him there and would stay over night to keep watch on the area. Brendon fully intends on keeping Ryan here, taking care of what he needs but to try to understand him-them-better. He won't torture the kid without a reason. But Brendon needs information and, he hates it, but he needs those eyes. 

Its hot in New York, July has brought horrible heat waves that are only relieved when the sun dips below the lights of a city being born. The people were overheating in their blazers, women in their heavy flapper dresses, eyeliner smearing with sweat. At night, however, everything is alive. Lights smear the skyline, reflect on the harbor, the air smelling of hemp and gasoline. Brendon drives his fathers most discrete and average looking car, dressing in common clothes to avoid any suspicion. The motel is dingy and run down-not that he expected any better given Frank had arranged it all. Really, it was all terribly boring. He was supposed to be at an extravagant party upstate right now, drowning himself in cocaine and the soft, pliable flesh of a woman. But even that couldn't distract his one track mind from the gang, from Ryan. From the way the boy with the buzzcut looked at him like he was nothing more than meat ready to be ripped off the bone. If he didn't address this threat now, he knew he would regret it for he rest of his life. 

Even those chilling memories weren't enough to sway him, though. Eventually Brendon found the door to room 76. Sliding his gun out of its holster, he guarded himself before knocking, hiding the weapon from the view of the peephole. The lock is unlatched and before the door can open all the way, Brendon looks inside. He sees only Frank and Ryan, so he tucks the revolver back away. Frank guides him inside quickly and they take a seat on what might be the dirtiest couch Brendon had ever seen. 

He finally let his eyes land where they wanted since he left them, on Ryan. He was sitting indian style on the mattress, his eyes were puffy and he looked exhausted. Brendon felt a pang of guilt for what he was doing, the boy clearly had been crying. He was probably horrified. Brendon coughed, remembering how he needed to make this seem. "He stays here, unless he's coming somewhere with me. I'll have one of my boys keeping an eye out so don't even think of trying to run home. You're here for me, and you'll go back to Frank as soon as I see my money. Simple as that."

Ryan nodded but those gorgeous eyes never even looked in Brendon's direction. He looked empty. Almost like he was on something, which was likely. He just kept nodding throughout Frank and Brendon's conversation. He only reacted when Frank snapped in front of his face abruptly. "Ryan. I'll see you Friday. Be respectful to Brendon." He barked. He leaned in, patting Ryan on the back and, quietly spoke. So gentle Brendon almost missed it. "Everything is going to be okay, this isn't like that."

Ryan just nodded again, forcing a plastic smile as Frank left. Brendon turned to Ryan. "Listen, kid. I'm not gonna hurt ya unless you make me. I'm not gonna force you to do anything-nothing like that. I just want you to talk."

"Talk?"

"Yes. But for now, you look tired. I do hate leaving you in a place like this. I'll make arrangements to move you somewhere more comfortable tomorrow...for now I'm sure you can manage. Is there anything you need from me?"

"An answer."

"To what question?"

"Why me?"

This was what Brendon feared, he could've picked anyone. He named Ryan specifically. "You have my mother's eyes." He stated simply, standing up and lighting a cigarette on his way out. He locked the door and headed home. 

-

As soon as the door slams, he shakily pulls out a joint and lights it with one of the matches on the bedside table. The high distracts him from the pain, but it lets his mind wander into thought. That is often more harmful than the tears. Since his father passed, leaving him an orphan, he knew what it was like to be forced onto his knees by men with too much money. He had been bought and sold like a prized hog, and treated worse. Rather than fattening him for slaughter, Ryan was just beaten and branded by men that smelled like his father. Heavy with whiskey and tobacco. But even then, Brendon was young and though his face stayed stoic, the quiver in his voice when he said Ryan had his mother's eyes. It gave him a shred of humanity, a chance that he may have a heart despite that dreadful cockiness he came into the den with. That maybe those fancy suits and guns were a cover for someone who was broken just like Ryan was. Just maybe.


	3. Dripping Ecstasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> barricaded in closed doors. lost in pleasure.

Brendon did end up going to the party after stopping by the motel. It was a mess of glitter and drugs that left him passed out on a pool chair with only hazy memories. The metallic taste in his mouth from a split lip and ugly nausea resulting in a poorly executed retching of his stomach contents (pretty much only alcohol at that point) into the beautifully arranged garden out front.

Drip from the lines of last night burned down his throat as he laid in the back of the car. Gerard and Josh in the front seat, rambling about business and adding to Brendon's already pounding headache. The drive was long and feverish in the heat. The city sun was relentless and unforgiving when they finally arrived to the Urie estate nearing a sleepless 8 am. Brendon arrived late for breakfast with bloodshot eyes and a shake in his hands. He heard his father say something snarky under his breath as Brendon poured his fourth cup of coffee from the press. Eating nothing and avoiding eye contact. 

"Have fun last night? I figured your injury would've smacked some common sense into you." 

"I can't let people think they hurt me would I? If I hadn't shown up, there would be questions. We'd seem weak, sir." 

His dad absorbed that, nodding his head. "Fair enough. Then you won't mind going to a meeting with that Iero boy tonight would you?"

Brendon paled at that, his heart rate beating. "Uh what about?"

"I was able to talk some sense into him. He said by thursday the money will be paid in full and he's even willing to merge with the Urie family."

"We're hiring them?"

"Essentially yes. They will be the lowest level, making cheap sales. Mostly weed and pills. Frank, however will be moving up to a higher status, and will be working along side you. He will have an assistant just as you have Gerard, who will also work for him as Ryan will for you."

"But-"

"No negotiating on this. This does not interfere with your inheritance or your status. You will treat him with respect, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Fantastic. After you're done substituting food with coffee, meet me in the study. You need to know the in and outs of this agreement with Frank and have him and all his men sign the contract."

"Ok." Brendon downed the rest of his drink and hurried to follow his father upstairs. 

His father's study was the room where everything that was to be never spoken of again, was spoken. The room itself was all chestnut, it smelled like cigars and pine. Books lined the back wall and electric had yet to be ran in, specifically because his father didn't trust it. So the windowless room was lit with gas lamps, and candles. As Brendon stepped inside, he was swung into the chair crossed his father's. He was always here, on the other side of the desk. His father's dreary face masked with heavy shadows from flickering flames of light. It loomed over him and Brendon felt small. But he held his back up, meeting the dark gaze of his father's eyes. 

      "Brendon."

"Yes?"

"I need you to get this done with discretion. This gang has a...reputation we were unaware of before we began doing business with them." 

"What kind of reputation?" 

      His father sneered at the question, pouring a glass of whiskey from the tumbler. He downed it, sighing. "Nothing you need to know. Just understand that they're tough, despite their age."

"Understood."

"Now here's the contract. You are not to read or touch it. You will be driven to their new base. Near the old lake house outside the city, you are to give this to Frank and when they have all signed it and given the check, you will bring it directly back to me. No stops. No discussions."

This all made Brendon's stomach queasy, bubbling in anxiety. He nodded. Why a pill and marijuana arrangement was this complicated and secretive made him question the sincerity of his father's words. He stood up, ready to leave but his dad's shriveled hand grabbed his wrist. 

"Brendon Boyd Urie." There was a growl in his voice, something angry and shameful. It made the pit of Brendon's stomach turn even more than the hangover. His dad's cold eyes bore into him. "Whatever the fuck you're doing with that Ross boy ends now. I don't need to know. But it's over."

Brendon felt fear ice in his veins but he nodded, wide eyed and ready for a slap to the face that would make his ears ring for days. It never came, his dad dismissed him and he went back to his room, slept off the booze and around sunset, drove, mind floating out of his body before reaching the motel on the way to Frank's. He knocked once before unlocking and running inside. The boy was on the couch, with a crumpled one dollar bill wrapped up to snort a line from the coffee table. Brendon said nothing and sat next to him, noticing his fear but just relaxing his posture. The boy offered him a bump, which he accepted and did quickly. As he held his head back, letting it run down his throat, the numbness distracting him from the anxiety of it all. "You're coming with me, Frank and my dad have made arrangements. You'll be working for my Father, Frank, and I."

"Oh. So we're partners?"

"No you and Gerard are our assistants just like before. But we are all working together now. Iero is a branch of us now. Frank will explain it to you when we get there."

"Where?"

"Out of the city, my dad relocated the boys to some cabin in the middle of fucking nowhere."

Ryan flinched at the sudden aggression in Brendon's voice. "Why would he do that?"

"I don't know." Brendon felt a hand on his knee, and titled his head back up. Ryan was looking at him, tears making his eyes look like a whiskey glass. The light from out the window was orange and made him, with curly brown hair and pouty lips, wrapped in a big brown flannel over his button up, he was warm. He was beautiful. Brendon stopped-"My father said that uh...this has to stop." 

"I'm being released?"

"I never wanted you to think I wanted to keep you captive. I acted irresponsibly when I asked that of Frank. I apologize, Ryan. You just..." Brendon trailed off. "I don't know."

Ryan seemed to think about that. "What was this supposed to be, Brendon?"

"I don't know. But we have a few hours to kill until the meeting, and I need to get high so I stop thinking about the bullet hole in my leg." He laughed, "Drunk, preferably but I'm afraid we're pressed for time." 

       Ryan laughed and pulled out a reefer, lighting it and patting the couch next to him. 

And, just with luck, Gerard was knocking on the door. Brendon went to get up, when he heard Way's high voice in panic as he burst inside. "Sir! We have a threat to you and your father. They don't know you're here but we can't risk them finding you. I'll be outside, we can't let you be seen. I'll be in contact with you soon. Keep the door locked, your father is sending security here now. I have to take the car down to Iero's to take his crew to the house."

"Slow down, Way. What kind of threat?"

"Sir, they plan to bomb the Urie estate. I doubt they'll succeed but we've heard they have armed men throughout the city."

"Motherfuckers."

"Stay here. I can't risk you getting hurt again." The way Gerard said that reminded Brendon of how it had been when they were young. Gerard's family had been working for the Urie's for decades. Gerard had been his right hand man, his best friend, his whole life. Sometimes it was hard being his superior, he had to let Gerard put himself in harms way for Brendon. Gerard had been the first person Brendon got drunk with, on his father's whiskey when he was away in Italy. They laughed and smoked on the rooftop of Gerard's apartment. They spoke of the future, of travel and fear. Right now, Brendon was scared. Not for his life, but for Gerard's. He couldn't show it, though. So he nodded. "We'll be here. Be safe, Gerard."

The boy nodded, hurrying back out. Brendon closed the door behind him, running his hands over his eyes. "Fuck."

"What do those guys want?" Ryan asked, he was standing now. His lanky frame swimming in his oversized clothes. He looked scared, petrified actually. He offered Brendon a hit with shaking hands. 

Brendon shook his head, taking it and taking long deep drags. "Money, it's always money. But they haven't asked for anything yet. So it could be revenge." He blew out the smoke he was holding in and watched it fill the air.

"Revenge for what?"

"Who knows. My father has made some very unethical deals. I'm honestly just relieved I'm here and not anywhere near him."

Ryan laughed. The sound was shockingly smooth, like butterscotch and moonlight. He was smiling, and Brendon felt his heart flutter. "You said you wished we had more time, right?"

       Brendon's eyebrows scrunched inquisitively. "Uh yes," he laughed nervously.

"Wanna get drunk?" Ryan asked as he took the last remaining hits of the reefer cig. 

Brendon found the way the boy spoke odd. He was unofficial and the slang was near disrespectful. He had pulled out a large glass bottle out of his satchel and waved it around. "It ain't fancy but it'll get ya' there." 

Brendon smiled at that, remembering Gerard and the roof and innocence. "Why not?" The man sat back down, lighting a fag and smiling as Ryan fumbled to pour two glasses of the clear liquor. It smelled like gasoline and tasted like varnish. But two glasses in and Brendon was laughing, gut wrenching, breath heaving. 

Ryan was reminiscing about a party he went to the week prior, and about a girl who had taken psychedelics and demanded Ryan to kill the alligator on the floor. There was nothing but a pile of clothes on the floor and she was screaming bloody murder. When she came down, she remembered none of it and when Ryan asked, she didn't even know what an alligator was. 

"She was so out of her mind, man-sir. Sorry." Ryan's smile fell as he hid his face sheepishly. 

"Don't apologize, Ryan. We're not anything right now but two guys having a drink to ignore the imminent hammer of death over our heads." Brendon's eyes met Ryan's, buzzing and irises flickering. It made him want more. 

"Want another line?" Brendon asked, already rolling the cash. 

"Yes, please. I'm all out." 

"If you're working for me that won't happen. As long as you don't let it get the best of you. Shit's hard."

"I know. But I feel-" he hiccuped. "good." His wide smile returned and the vodka only made the fire in Brendon's stomach burn hotter. Every drunken bone of his body ached to touch the boy. 

"Want to feel even better?" Brendon didn't know why he asked but he was pulling out small capsules from his wallet. He didn't do ecstasy often, but it was something he wanted to experience with Ryan. He wanted to test the limits of that flame in his gut. See if he could dig his own nails into his palms to keep him from reaching out and touching. 

"I haven't done this in a while." Ryan giggled. "L-last time I woke up on top of alligator girl."

       Brendon laughed at that. The room's phone rang and Brendon ran to answer. "Hello?"

"Mr.Urie?"

"Who is this?"

"Josh-It's Dun, sir."

"Josh, what the hell is going on?"

"Lotta' shit, boss. You're best staying there for the night. I'll be parked in the lot with Gee. Don't worry."

"What about my dad? The house?"

"We got it locked down but there's no way we can get your father out without causing attention. We're scoping the perimeter now and searching the entire premises."

"Okay. Thank you, Josh."

"Stay safe, lay low, Brendon."

"Will do. Keep me updated." Brendon hung up and chased the pill with a shot. Letting the poisons mix, feeling his nerves light on fire. When his hand brushes Ryan's fingertips as he passes him the other, it feels heavenly. And as the boy washes down his with liqour, they both disappear into a haze. The lights turn off at some point, only leaving the room soaked in golden light from the streets beyond the curtains. It's dark and they're talking in hushed tones now. 

       Ryan's deep and slow voice is dripping gold caramel into Brendon's ears. His breath was hot. "I knew y'all were high up but I didn't know bein' high up meant you got this high." The boy smiled, his spindly fingers raking his hair from his face. 

"We get good shit...most of the time." Brendon didn't mean for that to slip, but even the buttery soft lips before him couldn't distract from the bullet hole in his thigh.

"I don't deal with that stuff, sir. I'm just a helper."

"Now that's a lie, no one like you should be just an assistant." The youngest Urie smiled, and the chill wafted away. The heat of prior conversations ranging from travels to how they feel. That slurred, laughing, "Bren, I wanna dance." With that nickname, how could Brendon deny. He turned the radio on, music filling the room. They moved and swung to the beat, getting closer and closer. Their skin glided deliciously together for the first time and it felt like melting honey, like there was no lines separating their bodies. Ryan let out a shaky breath and in his jittering eyes, widened irises, he sees wide moons beckoning him closer. 

"B-Brendon," it comes out like a gasp as Ryan's thin waist is grabbed by the other boy's hands. He looks desperate, hungry even. He's swaying to the music like it would kill him to stop, like every note sent pleasure into his bloodstream. The light of the gloomy motel highlighted his high cheekbones and made his curls cast deep shadows over those eyes Brendon was becoming infatuated with.

"Don't tell anyone," he said in a whisper. He wanted this, he wanted to loose himself in pleasure as he always did. All those drunken nights, the blur of parties and galas all landing Brendon in the beds of strangers. Men and women alike, if he was honest. But this was different. None of them knew him, first names only ever the titles exchanged. Ryan knew who he was, he was working for his father. What they were about to do could never leave the walls of this motel. Brendon felt sick, this room would be his study, but instead of hiding secrets of blood money and drugs, it was Ryan.

"We can't fool them all." Ryan pressed himself chest to chest with Brendon, he was so close Brendon could smell the lavender and weed wafting off him. He smelled like a flower shop that had been smoked out. He felt his heart pound.

"Why don't we try? It'll be fun," Brendon moved his hands to press his fingers against Ryan's jugular, staring into those fawn eyes. "But I won't let you fool me. Let me feel your heart, Ryan. Tell me what I want to hear."

"I won't tell anyone." There was no thud, no tell-tale spike. "I want you, c'mon, before this wears off. I need to feel ya'." The soft drawl of his tongue drove Brendon crazy, the honesty of his words and the heat rolling off him in waves. He was angular and silky at once, soft pale skin marked with burns and bruises. His hips jutted out from his sunken in stomach, he was lean but lanky, beautiful. Brendon couldn't hold himself back, letting his lips press into Ryan's, feeling that tell-tale heart beat pounding in his own head as it drowned itself in drugs. He wanted him, Ryan was ecstasy personified, slow syrupy kisses and glitter that seemed to permanently embedded on his skin. 

 

The next morning, Brendon wished he could've said he was too fucked up to remember what happened. That they fucked and that was it. That it was fast and messy and unimportant. But, in reality, they'd kissed for hours. They kissed until Brendon's lips looked like cherries and Ryan's eyes were so glassy he looked like he was about to cry. They touched and whispered filthy confessions to each other. Ryan told Brendon he wanted to run away to Paris, he wanted to make music, he loved to sing. Brendon told Ryan he hated his father, that he didn't want this to be his life, that he was scared of the future, that he wanted to run away too. That he couldn't. 

"You could," Ryan had said as he sat on the edge of the mattress, finishing the last half of Brendon's cigarette that morning. They were getting dressed lazily, underwear first; Ryan's then Brendon's. Brendon gave Ryan his dress shirt- Ryan's was stained from the wine spilled over in the night. They laid like that, Ryan's thin form swallowed by billowy chiffon, Brendon ignoring how it made his heart ache. Brendon put on his socks, got distracted before putting on the other when Ryan started pressing small kisses on his shoulders and neck. They messed around, Ryan pulled Brendon's under shirt over his head between heated kisses. When they finished, both clothed and laughing, Brendon felt the fear of how much he wanted Ryan. Ryan had started his cig, He asked him why he couldn't leave everything as if Brendon didn't want to live every day as this morning.  

"They would kill me, there's nowhere I could hide that they couldn't find me." He hesitated before asking, "Would you come with me?"

"I would go anywhere," Ryan said longingly, like the whole world was an ex lover he hadn't seen in years. 

There was a pounding at the door, startling both of them out of their whispered words. Brendon shot up, running to look through the hole. A fish eye view of Josh and Gerard made Brendon switch the lock open. "What's going on?"

They said nothing, just delicately closed the door behind them. "Sir, something's happened," he said hesitating before looking to meet Gerard's gaze. 

Gee cut in, "Brendon, I need to talk to you alone."

"Anything you both know, Ryan can know. We'll all work together soon." Brendon looked over at Ryan, at the love bites coating his pale neck, hoping neither Josh or Gerard put two and two together. His heart was beating heavy, and the way both of the boys were looking at him made him sweat. Something was wrong something was very wrong. The room felt hot and his legs were numb. Everything started to spin when he heard the words slip out of Gerard's lips.

"Your father's been shot."


	4. Death of a Bachelor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a way, they would float off without each other.

They rushed to the Urie estate, and if he's honest, Brendon doesn't remember any of the ride. Josh and Gerard argued quietly in the front and the city smeared together out the window. Tears were never shed, Ryan held his hand under Brendon's discarded jacket. He ignored how comforting it was, how hard he clung to those spider fingers. His mind was reeling, he knew even if the shot hadn't killed him, his father was too weak to come back from an injury like this. With his dad gone, he would be shoved onto the thrown Boyd Urie built on dead bodies. He would bear the weight of blood money and show off the riches it reaped. Lose himself to a woman to keep appearances. No mafia head could be a bachelor. Barely twenty one, his youth would be stolen by legacy and by death. There was no guilt of not mourning his father's death in and of itself, he was cruel and unforgiving. His heart was frozen and he had been knocking on death's door for too many years. Now it all came crashing down, and Brendon had to try to steer a sinking ship. 

Whoever shot Boyd had apparently fled, the scene was unsettlingly clear and they arrived as the medical trucks did. All of them ran out of the car, giving them just enough time to see a gurney. Enough time for Brendon's mind to be forever stained with the image of his father's mutilated face, bloody and disassembled. He had been shot in the back of the head. Instant death; Executed. This was impersonal, the killer didn't want Boyd to see their face or they didn't care. No one seeking blood for vengeance wouldn't want to look him in the eye, it made the hairs on Brendon's neck stand and he felt like he was freezing. 

A police officer came up to him and his mouth may have moved and spoken but he couldn't hear what he was saying. Brendon may have answered but all he remembers is ambulance sirens and Gerard pulling him back to the car. 

"They have to investigate. I-I grabbed all the go-bags and we'll stay up at the cabin while this blows over. Smith is dealing with the bulls." Gerard was driving before Brendon could even argue. He didn't want to though. He just let himself fall back into the seat and looked over at Ryan. 

He was pulling out a book for a flat surface, rolling a reefer. "My father was a complete twat, he died when I was young. I don't miss him." He licked the paper, sealing it together. With a match from his pocket, he lit it, immediately passing it to Brendon. "It still hurts in a weird way, like a phantom limb. This helps." 

Brendon nodded, taking a few hits, still unable to speak. He went to hand it back and Ryan shook his head. 

"Thas' for you...I-" He turned to look over at Josh and Gerard in the front, still engrossed in conversation and chain smoking hundreds. Ryan lowered his voice, "I'm here for you. Jus' talk to me when you're ready to." He pulled the jacket up off the floor, covering his left hand with it, laying it between them.

Brendon's lips twitched up for a split second. He switched the joint to his other hand and slid his right under the heavy fabric. It found Ryan's like a magnet and clung to it desperately. He kept the window rolled down, blowing the smoke into the morning air, hearing the bustling of the city slowly fade as they reached the cabin. The joint made him floaty, made the numbness more intense but it made way for the anxiety of what's to come fade in favor of getting distracted by the way Ryan's mannerisms switched the moment they made it to the end of the winding drive way. 

       They used to use the cabin as a summer house when Brendon and his siblings were young. They would swim  
in the lake until tanned skin turned wrinkly and their cheeks were red from the sun. His mother would bring the kids when Boyd needed the kids off the property for the night, but to keep appearances he would come up for the next day. It was the only memory Brendon had that his father seemed even remotely happy. That happiness was only visible in small glimpses, but it was there. It was for that small part of him that was still human, that Brendon's heart ached for. That made the whole property feel like a graveyard. For his mom, Matt , and now his father. Even for his sisters, long gone and married. This was the one place they almost felt normal, even if they were young and ignorant to the biggest thing separating them from the rest of the world. 

       They were just a family. Just brothers play-fighting in the yard, playing cards, being carefree. It's all echoes now. Banshee screams drown the laughter. Now, even in the summer, it feels cold here. He's still carrying the suitcase with the damn contract and with his dad gone, he feels like he needs to read it. But he can't focus on anything right now and they're all silent when they knock on the door. 

He opened the door. The one that made Brendon's skin itch. "Come in." He said, moving to let them pass. "Ryan," he said in a voice that was almost soft but quickly covered it with "You have a room with Jon downstairs. Take your shit and meet us back up here."

       Ryan's head fell down and he ran down the creaky stairs. Brendon felt something protective wash over him and his fist clenched, the basement was disgusting, all cement floors and an open boiler room. Brendon would've said something but the kid still set him on edge, so he hid his frustration and went to the living room. It hadn't changed, the leather couches and ugly throw blankets that still smelled like his mom. 

        Brendon took a breath and his eyes met Frank's, handing him the case. "Has everything been okay up here?"

        "We're a little tense, seeing as we don't know where that threat originated. But I'm sorry to hear about your father...I heard he didn't make it."

"Yes, thank you. Don't worry, Frank, you guys' little arrangement is being upheld," Brendon said with a small sneer. Aggression bleeding from his words as anxiety comes back from the clouded high. 

       "I'm glad to hear that, I'm looking forward to working with you, sir."

       Brendon nodded, "Contract is with Dun, just give it back to him when you're done. We'll need to stay here for a while due to the threats but we have men investigating. We'll be out of your hair before tomorrow." Brendon faked a smile but he felt tears brewing in his skull. He excused himself and couldn't stop his legs from running down the stairs, finding Ryan unpacking his bag onto a pathetic futon. 

        He turned and dropped the pants he was folding. "Bren, are you okay?"

        He shook his head, "C-Can we go somewhere? I'll uh leave a few minutes before ya'," His voice was shaking and he was digging his nails so hard into his palm he felt it splitting the thick skin there. Ryan noticed this and nodded.

        "Yes, alright." He packed the rest of his clothes quickly as Brendon struggled up the steep, creaking staircase. 

        He said nothing as he walked outside, just grabbing a pack of fags from his jacket pocket. The summer air was hot but forgiving as it dwindled with the setting sun. Nicotine helped distract, but those tears begin bleeding soon after the familiar smell of honeysuckle hits his nose. He still felt too young, too unprepared for what was about to happen. The responsibility of the family name felt like an anvil over his head, a fraying rope of everything he has against him. His youth, his empathy, his anxiety. He can't be his father, he just can't. With this cabin he is reminded just how much of a child he truly is, and that part of him wants nothing more than to grab Ryan's hand and flee. To run away from all these pressures and let the Urie name die with his father.

        "Brendon?" It's Ryan, and his voice is small, hesitant, afraid to impose.

        "Ry-I can't do this." His breath was heaving and he turned back to face the boy with watery eyes. 

         Ryan grabbed his hand and walked them back through the woods, Brendon began noticing the path and they found themselves at the pond. The seclusion eased some worry as Brendon's eyes flooded. Ryan's hand was a steady comfort on the small of his back. It said don't be embarrassed, said that Ryan was here for Brendon. It was so tender, Brendon almost whimpered at the contact.

      "Everything's gonna' be okay...What's going on in your head?"

      Brendon looked up, into those eyes, "I can't be my father."

     Ryan let out a soft laugh, "Of course you can't. You aren't him, you're you. No ones asking you to be him."

     "Are you joking? I have to take his place and I can't, I'm not ready-I don't think I will ever be ready." 

Ryan nodded, lacing their fingers together. "Do all you can, no one can expect you to be perfect."

"It's-It just happened so quickly, I mean he's being dying for years but it wasn't supposed to happen like this-" Brendon's words cut off into a sob and he let his head fall to Ryan's chest. They sat their for hours, ignoring the mosquitos nipping at exposed skin, holding each other like they'd float away alone. 

In a way, they would.


	5. Free Will

They left not soon after, and by the time they made it back into the city Brendon felt numb. He was staying with Gerard in his apartment not too far from the estate. He couldn't stop thinking viciously of the weeks to come, of how he'd rather die than take on the role he was forced into-his father was a heir bringer of death. His title had a body count and was covered in blood. Brendon didn't want any of it. Despite his hands being heavy with death, it was self defense in every case. His father made plans that came with casualties and he never blinked a tear, never once. 

Brendon, with every sob, felt a sting on his cheek. His father would be embarrassed to see him like this, he would laugh and then scream.

He was well through his third pack of the day when he heard the door to the fire escape open. Gerard crawled through the small opening and sat on the metallic stairs, sighing and laying his head against the brick. "How ya' holding up, boss?"

"Don't call me that," Brendon laughed, taking a drag. He took his glasses off, letting the night smear together. 

"You're gonna have to get used to it, aren't ya?" Gerard grabbed the cig from Brendon's hand playfully, taking a hit and handing it back. 

"I don't want to...I just wish there was a way someone else could take my place...like a fucking interview or something," He finished the cig and chucked it, watching the orange cherry fly through the air, breaking into a dozen lightning bugs. 

"I know. That's just not how it works, it's the blood that runs this whole business. Your name the most important thing you have, Brendon."

Gerard was a bizarre man, always had been. His soft frame and feminine voice were usual exceptions to the job but he was never a runner, never a threat. He was there for Brendon, to do what he needed, to help when he could. His father had been that for Boyd, and his father before him. It was like having a pre-chosen best friend, one that didn't have to be background checked and questioned. Brendon never really thought about it until a few years ago, Gerard had just been his friend. They got drunk, went to parties, did schooling together at the estate. It was all tragically mundane, but it was comfortable and non-confrontational. 

That was Gerard, but if you scraped passed that, it was clear there was much more. He hated the business as much as Brendon, but he trusted in it like god. It was his whole life, it kept his family alive and eating-kept his brother Michael in a cushy townhouse and his mother in the nicest home money could buy. Gerard was thankful, so he didn't fight what he knew to be wrong. All this money ever did for Brendon was take that family from him.

"I'm scared, Gee." Brendon hadn't called Gerard Gee since they were 15. Gerard had hated his name, said it made him sound too old. When his dad died, he clung to it like a lifeline. Needing that step to make him feel like he could handle the weight of supporting his mom and brother. He wanted to hold onto a bit of his dad, Brendon understood that now more than ever. But he had no new name, his middle initial had been as branded by his father just as much as the last name painted him with a bullseye. 

"I'm trying. I just don't even know where to start."

"Deliveries and payments are all in order for the next few weeks, that'll give you time to work out what's in the study and talk with everyone. You can do this, and you don't have much of a choice." Gerard wasn't meaning to sound harsh, he was only being as honest as he always was. Brendon appreciated it but it made him nauseous, these weren't the loving consolations of a boy with a soft smile and honey in his eyes, these were the petrifying truths of a man who had seen the blood soaked cash and the Urie gang for all it was. 

Gerard patted his shoulder and headed back in to sleep, leaving Brendon with three lines and a pain in his heart that wouldn't dissipate. 

\-----

Ryan was afraid, Frank had been on edge since they decided to work with Brendon. He snapped at everyone, even Tyler. The entire cabin noticed and said nothing, all hiding themselves away to drown themselves in whatever poison they preferred. 

Tyler liked opium, liked to watch the sticky tar leave the syringe. Ryan was scared when he saw the way Tyler's eyes looked like someone else's completely by the time the heroin reached his brain. 

Jon needed rum, and lots of it. He and Ray liked to drink until they couldn't stand, throwing up in their sleep. Ryan knew they hoped to choke during the night, he could see it in the disappointment in their faces as they woke up with nothing but a hangover. 

Ryan didn't pay much attention to the other boys if he was honest. Patrick was introverted, didn't like anyone, Andy was the same and they only ever talked to each other and Frank. Bob's high came from beating the shit out of anyone that even looked at him wrong-Tyler was the same but he liked his fights paired with lines.

And as for Frank, well, Ryan hadn't seen him this hopped up since Jamia had passed. When Ryan had to get pillowcases and shirts cleaned every day from nosebleeds. He couldn't ask, he didn't ask, what was wrong. He knew, in the feeling of his bones aching, this deal was something big. When he did find out, from Jon late one night in the boiler room, he nearly vomited. Just how many were they talking?


	6. Don't Call Me Thankless

"Gerard, we need to find who killed my dad. How did they get out without anyone seeing?" Brendon raked his hands through his dark hair. He was halfway through his cigar and it was beginning to give him a piercing headache. It was that or the fear that his hunch was right. He searched Gerard's eyes for some flinch of accidental response. He had been feeling paranoid, maybe it was all the weed, or the coke, or the fact that he's got a giant fucking bullseye taped to his head and he doesn't know who put it there. He could only sleep with Ryan there, alone it was just staring up at his ceiling and feeling like there were eyes watching him. Even with guards outside his door and snipers on his roof, he felt vulnerable. If left him exhausted and dependent on things opposite of rest.

      His lip twitched, "I don't know, sir."

       Brendon eyed him suspiciously, "I think it was someone we know, Gee. How else could they get in and out undetected?" He didn't care if he sounded insane, Gerard knew Brendon. He never really judged anyone, surprisingly open minded yet horrifyingly pessimistic. He would get what Brendon was saying, that if this hadn't been worked out from the inside, the guy would be dead by now. There was a gap in the logic of Boyd's murder. 

     "I don't know...me, Joseph, and Dun are nonstop looking, they'll be bringing everything we've collected to the study later tonight."

     "Very well. What am i to do this morning?"

"Frank-Uh Mr.Iero is meeting with you himself to deliver your hands on supply and to discuss some issues coming up in the slums." Gerard flushed red as he shuffled through his papers, eventually handing Brendon a copy of the times. It read in bold 'Fourth Body Found Near Harlem; Police Suspect Killer Still at Large'. 

Brendon threw the paper unceremoniously onto the table. "What does this have to do with us? People die in those parts all the time. If he wants to play vigilante, his men can do it- not mine."

"It's not just the fourth body, sir. It's the fourth of Iero's runners to go missing and then show up dead. Something has to be going on."

Brendon nodded. "Alright. Send Frank in when he arrives. Will uh... Will you and Ross be joining us?"

Gerard laughed a bit, "If you'd prefer." 

"No, no it's quite alright. Um...so-"

"I'll send him in, sir."

"Right, thank you Gerard." Brendon turned away from the door and Frank the remainder of his morning coffee, now cold from the conversation. He sighed, drinking it anyway. All these deaths were linked to his father, he just knew it. Now, due to his own failure, Iero is down four (replaceable, yes, but still) runners. He felt their deaths like crows over his head, vultures circling him in flight. Guilt and anxiety was shaking his leg, unable to stop the intrusive thoughts of his own flaws. He hadn't found the gunmen when his father was shot, because of him, more people were dying, more people would die. 

      He wished Ryan was here, reefer in hand, swaying his hips and saying sweet words to ease his nerves. But he wasn't, and that made Brendon's fingertips go numb in horror. No one was safe, Ryan included. The thought of him running around for Frank made his skin cold. 

     But, thank god, Gerard opened the door, revealing Frank who walked in with a still slightly unkept Ryan trailing behind him. Brendon suppressed the grin trying to spread over his cheeks. His jaw set as he shakes Frank's hand. "Good morning."

     "Good mornin', Brendon." Frank said calmly. "Gerard says you've seen the papers." Frank doesn't quite know how to ease into conversation, he's blunt quite like Brendon's father. He takes the coffee Gerard brings in black with cream liqueur, Brendon does the same. Once they've settled, Brendon tries to not laugh at the way Ryan devours the pastry platter like he'd not eaten in days. 

      "Yes, Frank, I'm sorry to hear about it. Do you have any ideas or leads?" Frank shook his head, Brendon kept talking. "I'll also need a list of the areas they worked so I can see what kind of people we're dealing with."

      "Of course. Joseph and Dun have been working through the area, I sent them out last night. Nothing came up, they said the streets were like a graveyard since the headlines went out." 

"Frank, you'll need to be keeping a tight leash on your boys so we can make a list of areas to come down on. Nothing can get passed us. Whoever is doing this couldn't be hard to miss, once I have more eyes on the streets we will know every person walking in and out. They're probably who killed my father...or at least know who did."

     "Understood, sir. I'll keep you up to date. As for eyes how does Dun, Joseph, Weekes, Walker, and Ross sound?"

     His heart skipped a beat, not Ryan. "Uh...I actually need Ross to stay working with Gerard right now, I can send out Smith."

      Frank made an odd face, "No problem. What plan do you have for Ross and Way, then?"

      Brendon felt like he was under an interrogation light. His voice didn't quiver though, he wouldn't let it. "I need security for a party I'm attending. I was going to extend that invitation to you, Frank."

      Frank sits back, smiling. Now Brendon had his attention. The boy gave him a feral grin. "It would be a delight." Brendon could see it in his eyes, the old pain, the new buzz. He was hopped up, the shake in his fingers and the dilation of his pupils made his eyes look like wide moons. Frank's edge was becoming clearer now, he was dangerous like this. Sober, the boy was kind and calm with a bit of a temper. A few lines in and Brendon saw nothing in those eyes but an untamed animal. He was completely unpredictable, pressing a kiss to Brendon's hand when he left. Ryan looked at him like he'd been punched in the gut. 

"See you tonight."

\-----

It took exactly three minutes and fifty seven seconds for Brendon to calm down an inconsolable Ryan Ross from a temper tantrum to rival Brendon's from when he was a spoiled kid. Brendon assumed his laughter as Ryan insisted Brendon was cheating on him with Frank, only made the situation worse. But, once he pinned Ryan to the bed playfully, kissing him softly on the forehead, he said "Ryan. He was hopped on something, he seemed off from the start. I think he might know about us, or have his suspicions. We need to not make a big deal of this, we need to lay low love. Discretion is the only way I know I can come home and see you."

     Ryan's rage wavered, and he laughed. "He's never done that before."

     "And I'm sure he won't do it again. Now, go look in the closet."

       "Brendon you have to stop-" Ryan cut himself off as he saw the custom suit. It was lined with real gold thread and embellished with a blood red Urie family brooch. "Bren this is too much-"

     "This is what I wish you could wear," he gestured to golden snake wrapping the ruby in the shape of a U. "It would be nice if everyone could know about us."

     "They'd riot, we'd be killed."

      "Wasn't it you that said it best to flee? Leave all of this..."

      "I understand where you're coming from now..." Ryan looked off, "They would find us anywhere."

       "Well, maybe not anywhere. I've been looking at property in the South of France. With enough time, we could rob ourselves and disappear before anyone knows."

      Ryan walked away from the closet, back to Brendon on the bed, crawling onto his lap. "What would we do in France?"

     "I know you wanted Paris, but we would need to lay low for a while. I have enough savings that we'd never have to work a day, Ryan."

     "Just us in a cottage by the sea...maybe near Nice?" Ryan smiled, "We could just live normal lives." He relaxed into Brendon's arms, laying his head on his shoulder. Ryan felt so small, so young as he hummed happily to himself. Brendon wished he could keep Ryan in his arms like this forever. 

     "Elegant, but yes normal. You could make music-"

     "We could make music," He insisted. 

     "Who would've thought you were such a romantic, Ross," Brendon bit his lip fighting a laugh. "I wish we could really run away, in a dream we could."

      Ryan pulled up to rest their foreheads together. He smiled sadly, kissing Brendon breathlessly. He straddled Brendon's thighs and pressed himself against his chest like he wanted to melt into it. "I don't wanna wake up," Ryan said in a quiet sob between kisses. 

     "I don't either." Brendon wiped the tears off Ryan's cheeks and kissed them. 

\------

They got dressed by themselves, apart from Brendon tying Ryan's tie for him. Brendon went out the front, Ryan out the back.


	7. Old Fashioned

The reality of what Gerard had been talking about reigned true within the next few weeks. Brendon had strung himself into a spiderweb and before he knew it he was being made a puppet by the bondage of web. He was booking deliveries, calling in the orders, sending out calls for more ammunition. It was horrifying how easy it was at first, the way one flip of the wrist could kill-could make money. The immense power at his fingertips was overwhelming, almost like a high. The coke helped too, made him feel like he was a god. Reigning harsh over the city and bathed in gold.

Free time was spent with Ryan, fooling around in the study with the door locked. One day, after a meeting, Brendon fucked Ryan over the desk. Ryan told him he liked Brendon being the boss, that he had a demeanor of intensity now. It made Brendon laugh but the way Ryan clung to his Urie tie like a vice was enough to make any man's knees weak. The image was pure sin, the blood red tie eventually making its way to tie around Ryan's head, stuffed in his mouth to quiet his needy whimpers. This happened too often for any good to come of it, but it was hard to stop now that they started.

The tension of Ryan working for him was stereotypically arousing. Rushed kisses and secret notes made the secrecy a thrill Brendon wanted to live in forever. They left heavy marks and lost themselves in drugs in the evenings. Ryan snuck his way into the west wing of the Urie estate mansion through a back staircase, they got high, danced, and fucked. It was beautifully hazy, Brendon's feet were dipped in rubies. Ryan began to look a new kind of gorgeous as he wrapped himself in expensive fabrics and Brendon showered him in gifts and gold.

"I feel like I'm dreaming," Ryan sang in a laugh. They were spinning around Brendon's bedroom, lights low and in just underwear. Afterglow painted cheeks and red lips.

"How do you mean, love?" Brendon smiled into Ryan's neck as they swayed. 

"This all feels like a dream; you, me, all of this," Ryan sighed. "I want it to last forever," his voice shook but his smile stayed put.

Brendon moved back, pressing a kiss to the boy's lips. "Let's just dream together." Ryan laughed and melted into Brendon's arms, letting the classical music bleed through their limbs. Brendon had played piano his entire childhood, taking lessons, learning the masters- Bach, Mozart. Capriccio filled the air and with the lights, and Ryan dressed in white. He imagined a world where he could live like this freely. Where he could wed Ryan and the world would think nothing of it. That world is the one that he thinks Ryan is in love with. Dreams and life seem to have no boundaries for Ryan, he lives every of his lives so fully. He puts in everything to every second and Brendon thinks he's getting in too deep.

There's been too many late night rendezvous, too many gentle kisses, too many longing gazes during meetings and rushed fucks after. It's all horribly romantic, and Brendon knows it can't last long. It's a painful thought. If Brendon's honest, it's horrifying. The thought of not being able to wake up to Ryan rushing to get dressed, buttoning his shirt incorrectly and giving Brendon that dumb dreamy grin as he ran out, made him nauseous. He wanted that so bad it hurt, the wound a sharp arrow in his chest.

And, when he did see that in the morning, the warm light soaking the room, Ryan's hair tragically disheveled, Brendon felt tears tempt his ducts. He pulled him by his belt loops, close to his chest. The kisses were desperate; starving and feverish. Brendon said with his body what he couldn't in words. Through his lips, he showed Ryan how much he wanted the dream too, how Ryan made him feel something he had never felt, how he wished he could give him everything. It was so soon and they could never live like this. So Brendon let Ryan go, happy with the thought of seeing him later in the day but lost in the depression of the reality of life without him, outside of the dream.

What was he supposed to do now? He could feel his heart latching onto Ryan like a life line. It beat for him and him alone. He carried on as best he could, shaving and getting dressed as the sun rose. Cool morning air wafted through open windows in the kitchen, Brendon brewed coffee for himself and had a smoke. Gerard filled him in for the day, and he just couldn't concentrate on anything. Everything was glittering gold magnificent then confusing numbers and gravestone names. He invested himself and obsessed his time into these plans made so vague to him, never allowing him full access despite his power. It made his body weak at the end of the day and the liquor to lull it to sleep despite the ache. He was beginning to understand his father all too well. The day he realized he went through another handle of whiskey just for himself, he vowed moderate sobriety (from spirits, that is). He limited himself to champagne for special occasions, and for Ryan. The boy was in a love affair of his own with the Urie family's wine cellar. Wall to wall, from France and Italy mostly but some from out west. All aged beautifully and left Ryan wanting more with plum stained lips. Brendon loved indulging him so he allowed himself that cheat too. He just couldn't let himself become his father, he needed to keep touch with reality, not loose his identity to this job. He needed to be as authentic and honest as he could. Which, given Ryan and his situation had to be the exact opposite, made that a challenging process.

So Brendon tried to not think about it, he focused on work at work and on Ryan with Ryan. It worked, until work began to infest his bed and Ryan was his only priority in work-trying to keep him safe when he was supposed to be treated like nothing at all.

He tried to cover his favoritism but it was hard when all he wanted to do was shower Ryan in love and riches. He had to make it seem that his interest was the money, was the family name and the business. His father left so abruptly Brendon had simply envisioned himself as his father, asking himself what Boyd would do if he was here when that was the last thing Brendon actually wanted. He mourned for the father he hadn't had since he was young but that tyrant was the last thing Brendon needed as a man. 

He didn't know how he could end up this caught up. No development had been made on finding his father's killer and it was beginning to raise eyebrows. Rumors of Brendon not weighing in, despite his cockiness in believing they'd have the gunman's head on a stake. But what he did know, was that something was off. It was too calm on the streets and Brendon could feel the storm brewing over the city. It would come down with biblical floods and purifying fire. All Brendon wanted was to keep Ryan out of the crossfire.


	8. Testosterone Boys

The first party since his father died would be a test of his endurance, his resilience and respectable grief had to be evident and clear to everyone. People would know his name and they'd be watching for any reason to pick him apart like hungry vultures. His messy days of drunken indulgence were over, he was the Boss now.

Walking into the snake pit, the hiss of whispers. He wore his glasses, a well tailored suit and with his and Frank's men behind him, he could feel the judgment like the heavy eyes of god that cast green over the city. 

The air was heavy with tobacco smoke and Brendon lost himself in it, following it from each small gathering of dons and bosses. The heavy pressure of them was molten rock and an eruption was nearing. This new responsibility would most definitely burn him.

"Brendon Urie." A man with a clean shaven face and death in his eyes extends a shriveled hand. "You look so much like your mother."

Brendon ignored the pain in his chest at the mention of his mom, smiling. "Yes, thank you and you are?" Brendon shakes the wrinkled hand of the old man looking at him like he was a piece of meat. 

"Oliver Orzechowski. I used to work with your father, I'm terribly sorry to hear about what happened to him." The man moved closer, towering Brendon in size. He lowers his voice, "I'm sure your men are seeking to avenge his death."

Brendon nodded, keeping his voice down. "Of course, we're looking into it. I intend to deal with the threat myself." Brendon kept his voice unwavering but heavy with blood. 

"I like to hear that. You've certainly exceeded my expectations, son, we'll be in touch. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go devour some of those horderves." 

Brendon talks with everyone without ever truly thinking about the things he's saying, allowing himself to become a puppet to social convention and thoughtless conversations. His demeanor is respectful, yet solemn. He smiled when he needs, laughs when he must, and, the first second he's alone, does a few lines and takes a shot or three. Letting drugs and booze distract him from who's inside the puppet. The man who is gone from what he presents to these wolves. 

"Hey, you okay?" Brendon hears from behind him, knowing the voice immediately and trying to stop the stupid smile on his face.

"Hey uh..."Brendon waited for the people to clear out before he eventually just pulled Ryan to the balcony by the sleeve of his suit jacket-which made him distractingly gorgeous, Brendon had his tailor alter it just for him. It made him look even lankier but the shoulders filled out just enough that he looked older, more refined, it was almost odd. 

The night air was less stuffy than inside, the breeze blowing Ryan's long curls across his face. He was smiling, bright with stars in his moon eyes. "Bren?" 

"I'm anxious, that's all. These people are just looking for a reason to tear me apart." Brendon let his chest hang over the railing, looking down on the sea of people underneath them. 

"Hey," Ryan whispered-with a smirk. 

Brendon gave him a weird look, "Yeah, baby?" 

Ryan smiled wide at the name, moving closer to the other man. "Wanna ditch?"

"I can't, these men-"

"Are twats. And, you've already talked to most of them, made it clear you're not backing down. You've done all you need to do, and we'll come back." 

"You're too much." Brendon laughed, downing the rest of his champagne. "Let's go."

 

Ryan's lips on his are insatiable, like he wants Brendon to devour him whole. He would, Brendon would take anything Ryan gave him. Consume everything he is and make it part of his own body forever. Ryan's vicious and delicate all at once, a beautiful juxtaposition of who he is around others and who he is with Brendon. Brendon has enjoyed unraveling every skin Ryan wears, each more beautiful than the last. This boy was layered halloween masks of gold and red, some embellished with roses and others glittering pure sunlight. 

They were in the north wing of the mansion, as far away from the party as they could get. The music and voices were nothing but a distant lull, Ryan had pounced him like the excited teenager he was. "Off," he grumbled as he ripped the expensive shirt he bought Ryan off of him. 

They locked the door, then checked, and locked the top just to be safe. And as soon as they knew they were safe, Brendon pinned Ryan against the wall. Unable to stop himself from biting harshly on the pale skin of Ryan's neck. He wanted something to know that this boy was his, no one would question a stray love mark after a night like this. The thought made Brendon's brain fuzzier than it already was. He lost himself in making bloody marks anywhere he could bite. 

The frantic grinding came to a stop.

And when Ryan says that "Bren, please," between petal lips, it's impossible to deny. He's lust and Brendon drinks in all he is. When he gasps, it's an angelic harp strum, his moans are pure heroine hymns. 

He knows this boy has ruined him for anyone else. No one will make his heart flutter like this, no one else will make his stomach feel like he's being flipped upside down, he will never love anyone the way he loves Ryan Ross.

The thought strikes fear into his heart like an icepick. He freezes on top of Ryan, trembling. He has to love Ryan with everything he has, he can't let him go. He ignores the tears slipping down his cheeks and presses his lips against the boy beneath him that's high from pleasure. Rolling his hips like he's rolling, Brendon stops thinking. Focusing all of his attention on the sensation of Ryan's skin against his, on the sound of the whimpers coming from the back of his throat. Brendon lets himself take it all, tasting the tobacco and green tea that Ryan's lips give him. Lets his body sing love.

     He pushes into Ryan and feels like he's found god. They fuck messy, and rough, then tender and soft. Switching without speaking and breathing each other's air. It was toxic and poisonously intimate. Making love to Ryan felt dangerous, for Brendon knew just how easily he would give this boy everything he had. Ryan could ask him for anything and Brendon would deliver. But he never did, Ryan knew Brendon had millions but never asked for a cent. It only made Brendon love him more, knowing that it wasn't his wealth Ryan was after like every other. Brendon couldn't even piece together what Ryan wanted, he seemed happy to just be with him-high or not.

       "I love you," Brendon said as he came. 

      Ryan ran.


	9. Lord of the Flies

"What are we? Humans? Or animals? Or savages?" - Lord of the Flies

Watching the sunlight hit the soft brown curls that hung over Ryan's face was damn near a religious experience to Brendon. Him early in the morning, Him in the long halls of the Urie estate high and spinning without a single care. That was how he always was when Brendon imagined him.   
Loss of that idea was what hit Brendon the hardest. Not knowing where Ryan was, if he was safe or happy. The harsh reality of this world and the cruelty of other people was too painful. Brendon drank himself into madness that night. He abandoned the party, causing a scene as he pushed his way through the business partners he was supposed to be charming. Playing the mourning son when all he was mourning was the dreamy lie he'd convinced himself of. It was a lie for love, the idea that Ryan would be his forever and the darkness of their world couldn't touch them. That he could stay bathed in the rays of heaven.   
      Ryan wouldn't be found if he didn't want to be. He'd known a life on the run and Brendon knew he'd see him again. He feared for that, but he yearned for it more. Gerard's attempts at conversation were fruitless, he slammed the door to his father's office in his face like a declaration of war against himself. How could he have been so foolish as to let himself say that? He felt it, he knew he loved Ryan because the rejection felt like a stab to his chest. The pain throbbing like a dying heart made him feel like an amputee. The ghost of idealized future hung limp inside him.   
      He opened his father's most precious and expensive bottle of brandy from the liquor cabinet and poured himself a generous glass. The last thing he remembers was running out of cigarettes.   
-  
The morning hangover was something handcrafted by Lucifer himself. Brendon dreamt of nothing but gory visions of Ryan's body. It was sliced and bloody, face a mangled mess of teeth and those brown curls stuck to drying wounds.   
Loving this boy, wondering where he was, praying that he wasn't dead. Praying that he was smiling but hoping he was choking on his own tears because maybe he loved Brendon too. His lover's reckless abandon of his confession was overwhelming but he couldn't say it was unexpected. They were in an impossible position for love; criminals caught in a bloody gossiping high society. Ryan was scared, he'd looked at Brendon like a deer in headlights before fleeing in similar fashion. 

The first day without him was hell. His heart felt like it was about to just give up on living, his chest ached and it felt like wolves were clawing at his ribs. He couldn't stand it, he backed out of business for the day. He didn't leave his room, it felt disrespectful. He drank his liquor shelf, then did the entire gram of blow from his nightstand. 

     Even with the room spinning and his body shaking, Ryan was all he could think about. The duvet smelled like him, Brendon clung to it without thinking. He thought about his mom, how he would go into her studio after she died just to breathe in the familiar smell of turpentine and oil paints. Ryan wasn't dead but he might as well be. Brendon felt like he was about to vomit, throwing himself over the bed to empty his stomach on the hardwood floor. He wiped his mouth with the edge of his sleeve and tried to drink a glass of water.  
      He rang for one of the help to clean up his mess, apologizing while stumbling past her and into the master bath. It felt good, the hot water clearing his head. He lit a cigarette and watched the smoke fill the room along with the steam from the tub.   
      It wasn't long before the anxieties came bubbling to the surface. How could he have been daft enough to assume Ryan would accept his love when they had to hide from the whole world? Especially when world saw the Urie Estate cascading over the slums, lit by a spotlight and glittering in the flesh New York snow. When Ryan came from those broken,  
impoverished homes. Brendon had never felt guilt for his wealth beyond its source, in honesty he always felt lucky. Now, Brendon felt cursed.   
-  
Ryan feared not what people would say about them, only what could happen if the news made its way home. He could handle stares, whispers, threats; but he couldn't handle the hate that would ever leave his family's eyes. He hadn't seen them in years but their judgment still clung to his bones like poisoned meat. Black cancer, strangling his freedom and his burning love for Brendon. He did, love Brendon that is. He couldn't pin the moment he knew, it happened so gently and naturally Ryan felt that it had always been a part of him. It was in his blood, the pure shining veins kept his heart pumping despite their position enclosed in that tar stained chest.   
      His guilt was unbearable, he kept replaying the moment Brendon's eyes went wide with tears. He couldn't love him, he'd lied to him for so long. Brendon loved him for what Ryan was when they were together; he didn't know the person Ryan was, the things he's done. Brendon wasn't perfect but he was caring, he was born into his position whereas Ryan fell into the snake pit on his own. Ryan had no one to blame but himself. And, that's exactly what he did. The old mourning ritual began at Frank's, he and Iero drank themselves sick the night he ran from Brendon's confession.   
Ryan headed back to the lake house, Frank coming home hours later already tipsy and high. Rambling about cherries and lines before opening one of his most expensive whiskeys.   
What happened half way through the bottle, Ryan never expected. That was the true reason he couldn't beg on his knees at Brendon's door for forgiveness.   
\-----  
"What's got your knickers in a twist, Ross?" Frank quipped as he cringed from his last shot.   
"Nothing. Just some personal stuff," Ryan finished off his whisky and lit a cigarette.   
"Of course it's personal. Ryan..." Frank lowered his voice and memories of their first years together flashed through Ryan's head. Frank had been his friend first, boss second. Frank was there through a lot more of his life than anyone else. Besides Brendon (if he even had him in the first place), Frank was the person who knew the most about him.   
"You won't judge? "  
"Cross my heart."  
"I've been seeing someone recently... but I ruined it completely. They'll never talk to me again and I haven't felt that close to someone in years."   
      "I know how you feel. When Jamia passed..." Frank sighed and took another swig, "I couldn't help but think I'd never move on. That I could never love anyone the way I loved her and that terrified me. But we get over that shit, we move on, and don't let the past ruin everything." He got a little closer, Ryan could feel his breath against his neck.    
      Their lips met quickly, and the broke apart even quicker. "I-"  
      "Shut up, Ross." Frank smirked, his chipped tooth poking out of his smile when he moved in to kiss Ryan again.   
      They fucked angrily, Ryan's face pressed into the mattress, arms twisted behind him, eyes watering. It felt just good enough that he didn't care how weird work would be, what Frank would think of him and Brendon. He just let the booze in his stomach and the dick in his ass  bring a smile to his face because for the moment, he was beautifully, orgasmically, numb.


End file.
